


To Entangle So To Know

by idyll



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: sga_flashfic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-08
Updated: 2007-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-07 10:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idyll/pseuds/idyll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ronon was ten his mother sat him down and sectioned his hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Entangle So To Know

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Poisontaster for the beta.

On Atlantis, they call Ronon's hair dreaded, but on Sateda it was known as raveled; a tradition that no one much bothered with during Ronon's lifetime. But his parents felt there was wisdom and comfort to be found in the old ways, and when he was ten his mother sat him down and sectioned his hair.

She tugged lightly at the sections all along his hairline. "Love," she said, her tone serious and her voice deep and gravelly like a warm stormy night. "It surrounds everything else." She took up a section of hair at the back of his neck, right at his hairline and tapped Ronon's shoulder so that he would pass back the comb. "Think of love."

She combed the hair back against his scalp in a tight knot a few strands at a time, slowly and with the patience of Ancestors. As she worked she hummed and sang her way through the songs and hymns that Ronon had heard all of his life.

When all the hair was knotted into the ravel, she coated it with smoothing balm and took up another section at his hairline. "Think of love."

During the fourth ravel, Ronon's father joined them and greeted Ronon's mother with a warm, private smile. Ronon remembers the way his mother's heartbeat picked up against his back.

He remembers, too, his father sitting in front of him and reaching for his hands. His father's ravels were waist-length and smoothly shaped--so different than the stubby and ratty-ended ones that Ronon ended his day with--but he still looked impressed by what Ronon's mother had done so far.

"Think of love," he reminded Ronon, his hands strong and calming against Ronon's own. He began humming with Ronon's mother.

*

When Ronon declared himself to Melena years later, he did it in the traditional manner of cutting the ravel directly over his left ear in half and giving it to her. She accepted in the traditional manner as well, sewing the piece back on with colored thread.

They did all of that before they even kissed for the first time, and it wasn't because Ronon was old-fashioned--he wasn't, no, and Melena wasn't the first women he'd kissed--but because Melena was _that_ important and special.

He thinks of this when the Ulgaton capture Sheppard and drag him through the Ring, because he and Sheppard have kissed, have done more, have done nearly everything...except make any kind of declarations.

After two weeks of unsuccessful searching that takes them through five different Rings on six different planets, Ronon goes to Sheppard's quarters and stands in front of the mirror. He uses one of his knives to cut the ravel directly above his right ear in half--the declaration to someone of his own gender--and leaves it on Sheppard's pillow.

*

Ronon's mother and father switched places when his mother finished the ravels along his hairline.

"Faith, now," his father said, and pulled on the sections on the top of Ronon's head. "When you were born, it was soft here." He touched Ronon's scalp at the place where his skull had knitted together as a baby. "The Ancestors, they have their ways, and we trust in that."

Ronon's mother pulled his feet into her lap and stroked her thumbs over the arches. "Think of faith."

His parents talked to him as his father worked, told him all the ways in which the Ancestors had blessed them. Ronon found it difficult to do as his mother instructed, to have faith in something so far removed from himself.

But there was a scar on top of his mother's hand, from where she'd scraped it on a rock pulling Ronon from the river once, and on either side of him were his father's booted-feet, caked in mud and muck from patrols he made through the city, enforcing their laws and protecting their neighbors.

His father began the next ravel. "Think of faith."

Ronon thought of faith and found it in his parents, who were near and accessible and had never let him down. His mother smiled and patted the top of his foot.

*

After the Wraith came and Ronon was made a Runner, he cursed Kell's name and cut the faith ravels from his head in a rejection so complete that he took bits of his scalp with them. Then, with Kell's name still on his lips, he burned them, damnation and banishment all in one. The rest of ravels followed for different reasons.

Kell made him careful with his faith but Sheppard has proven himself so often that Ronon can't remember the last time he questioned his faith in the other man. The others in the city have come through for Ronon, too. Even people he's only seen in passing have come to his aid and stood by him.

Ronon has a surplus of faith now, more than enough to share. He cuts the tip of the ravel directly over that point of confluence on the top of his skull and drops it on the weapons locker in Sheppard's quarters so that Sheppard's faith--in himself, in Ronon, in all of them--will be solid and bone deep, will be enough to keep him fighting and _alive_ until they find him.

Because they will find them.

Ronon shares another piece from a neighboring ravel with McKay, who's been working almost ceaselessly to track Sheppard and the Ulgatton from Ring to Ring. Because he knows McKay would neither understand nor want to, Ronon doesn't give it to him. Instead, he tucks it into the lighting fixture of the lab McKay's been working in, so that it will spread down to McKay and out towards the various scientists who come in to assist him.

*

When Ronon's father reached for another section of hair, this time on the left, between love and faith, Ronon's mother tutted and pulled his hand away. "Food next."

The three of them broke for a dinner of cold meat and bread, leftovers from their large brunch the day before. Ronon's neck hurt from holding it still for long periods and his mother touched his cheek when she saw him wince. "I'll rub your neck when we're done, yes? And we'll use the oret root cream to take the pain."

They sat down again, and Ronon's father moved behind him once again and picked up the same section of hair from before. "Truth," he said to Ronon solemnly.

"Be truthful in word and deed," his mother told him, stern and fierce. Ronon flushed and looked away. He'd been punished the week before for lying to his mother about climbing the old fruit tree behind their house.

His father began knotting the latest ravel. "The worst lies are told to one's own self, Ronon, so always be mindful that you are honest with yourself."

It was more of a lecture than had come with the previous ravels. Ronon rolled his eyes and earned himself a pinch on the arm from his mother.

"Think true and truthful," Ronon's father instructed. He was perhaps a little harsher with the raveling than was necessary and Ronon's mother made a point of narrowing her eyes until Ronon remembered how lying about climbing the tree had made his stomach hurt, and how confessing the truth had made him week-kneed in relief.

*

Ronon's childhood views on outward truthfulness still nudge him from time to time, and after he deceived Teyla and killed Kell, Ronon took a small ring of metal and worked it onto one of the truth ravels, both an admission and an apology for his deception of a new friend.

But Ronon has never lied to himself, perhaps the single lesson from his childhood that he's never questioned. At least until six weeks after Sheppard is taken, when Ronon refuses to even acknowledge or contemplate the possibility that Sheppard might be dead. Ronon uses a pair of pliers from the small toolkit in Sheppard's closet to cut the metal band off his ravel and then drops it in the empty wastebasket in the bathroom.

*

Ronon's mother took over raveling duty once more when his father finished the truth sections.

"Hope," Ronon said before she could. His parents looked pleased that he knew what the sections on the right represented.

"I knew you paid attention," Ronon's mother teased, her fingers nimble and sure.

Ronon's father lay on the floor beside them and stretched his back, kinked up from being in one position for so long. "Hope. It's what drives us."

"It sustains us," his mother disagreed.

His father shook his head. "It's what we fight our fears with."

"No, it's what colors our dreams."

They went back and forth about it, every once in a while reminding Ronon to think of hope. Most of their arguments went over Ronon's head, but he remembers feeling like they were both correct.

"Hope," his parents said together when his mother finishing applying the smoothing balm to the final hope ravel.

*

During the second year Ronon was a Runner his hair grew long enough that he could ravel it again. He didn't make any hope ravels and when he raced from planet to planet that hair flew behind him unfettered, a flag waving in testament to his despair.

Eight weeks after Sheppard is taken, Ronon pulls a black t-shirt out of Sheppard's hamper and cuts it into strips. He uses a crochet needle he got from one of the marines to entwine the strips in the ravels on the right side of his head, in the area between his hairline and the center of his head. They twist within and around the ravels from root to tip and, every so often a waft of air brings him Sheppard's scent.

*

Ronon's parents both sat behind him for the last ravel, which was located directly above the very first ravel, in the concave dip just above his hairline.

"Loss," his father whispered. His mother's voice was a faint echo.

Ronon wanted to ask why there was only a single ravel to represent loss, but something about the quality of the silence coming from behind him made him hold his tongue.

His parents said nothing else, and it was Ronon's father who held the section of hair, and his mother who used the comb to ravel it against Ronon's scalp, and neither of them needed to remind Ronon to ruminate on loss.

"There," his father said when it was over. "Finished."

Ronon's neck was stiff with tension and strain. He could barely turn his head in any direction.

His mother leaned down to kiss his head, her lips touching a bare patch of scalp between two ravels. "Loss."

*

For years, Ronon didn't have a loss ravel. In fact, he shaved that patch of hair often and never let it grow at all because he'd lost everything and nothing else had taken its place.

He started letting it grow back after his first year in Atlantis. It was another year before he decided to ravel it. That was the first time he went to Sheppard. He brought with him a fine-toothed metal comb, the smoothing balm Teyla made for him from the plants on the mainland, and talked Sheppard through the raveling.

Sheppard made a face and said, "I don't know if I'm the best person for this. What if I mess it up?"

It was touching but unnecessary. "Loss _is_ messy." Sheppard still didn't look convinced. Ronon rolled his eyes. "Besides, it's going to be hidden by the others."

That was enough for Sheppard, who began the ravel hesitantly but fell into a rhythm quickly. He managed to cut himself on the metal comb midway through and when he tried to get a towel to wipe drops of blood from the hair, Ronon stopped him. "Leave it. I want it there."

Sheppard let go of the ravel and moved in front of Ronon to study him for a minute. "_Oh_." He licked his lips and looked away briefly. When he looked back he seemed tentatively hopeful. "You're not just here for this..."

Ronon shook his head.

Sheppard smiled and leaned in to press his face against Ronon's neck. His arms curled around Ronon's back; Ronon hooked his own on Sheppard's shoulders and pushed his hands into Sheppard's hair.

"It's about damn time," Sheppard whispered.

Ronon struggled for words and finally said: "I had to wait until it was long enough."

Now, ten weeks into Sheppard's disappearance, Ronon starts preparing himself. He pulls his ravels together and uses one to tie them up, and then he reaches through and untucks the loss ravel so that it hangs out in the open, messy and misshapen.

*

Ronon put his head in his mother's lap after she set aside the comb and balm. His father brought them the oret root cream and spread it on Ronon's neck. It was cool at first but became heated within minutes. When Ronon fidgeted at the sensation his mother used her strong hands and sure fingers to massage the tension away.

Later that night Ronon laid between them in their bed, all of them staying awake until the early hours of the morning. His parents told him of their own first raveling, and also--with much laughter and joy--of their declarations, offerings, and sharings.

On the verge of sleep he asked them about the rest of it, about rejections, banishments, damnations and losses. They curled tight around him and said there was time enough for that in years to come.

*

Twelve weeks after the Ulgaton took him, Sheppard is back among them and in his quarters for the first night since the rescue. Ronon's been waiting for him for several hours. Sheppard doesn't seem at all surprised to find him there.

Sheppard isn't the oblivious man he often pretends to be; Ronon watches him take one thorough scan of the room, seeing everything Ronon has left: the declaration, the sharing, the leftover scraps of a torn t-shirt in his hamper. When he goes into the bathroom he frowns at the broken metal ring in the trash, then leaves the door open while he undresses and steps into the shower.

A while ago Sheppard asked him about the ravels--the tradition and history--and Ronon told him about all of it. So he knows Sheppard is aware of the significance of everything. Ronon might have been nervous about that but the relief of having Sheppard back is strong enough that he doesn't have any energy left for worry.

He strips down and stretches out on his stomach, watching Sheppard shower. He wants to rest his head and sleep; he's still exhausted from the long search and the adrenaline rush of the rescue four days before. At the same time, he doesn't want to wake up and find that he's been dreaming and Sheppard is still missing.

When Sheppard's finished, he towels himself off and then pads, still naked, to a bag he brought with him from the infirmary.

"I noticed." He gestures at Ronon's hair. "I remember."

Ronon nods because he didn't doubt either of those things. He watches with interest as Sheppard pulls a pouch from the bag and then comes to the bed, serious and intent. Ronon sits up. Sheppard drops the pouch on the bed by his thigh, and then reaches out and tugs on the loss ravel hard enough that Ronon's eyes water.

"Let's put that away," Sheppard murmurs and looses the ravel holding the others back. He gathers up the declaration from the pillow and then takes a sturdy needle and thick green-colored thread from the pouch. Ronon's heart beats harder and faster. "Do I have to say anything?"

Ronon shakes his head, feeling split open and close to breaking. He has to close his eyes when Sheppard touches his face softly with a single finger and tips it back.

Sheppard's sewing is lopsided and the end result is slightly garish looking thanks to the brightness of the thread, but Ronon's mother told him many years ago that what mattered was not the appearance but the emotion behind an acceptance. He tells Sheppard: "It's perfect."

Later, Ronon gives Sheppard the crocheting needle and lets him pull and pry the t-shirt scraps free, then has him use the pliers to wrap the metal ring back in place and tuck the sharp cut ends into the center of the ravel.

Even later still, Ronon knots a short length of leather cord around the sharing end and then attaches it to the chain at Sheppard's neck, nestled between the two tags.

Sheppard stares at Ronon's hair until he finds the ravel missing its end. His voice is shaky when he speaks. "Faith, huh?"

Ronon's eyes burn but he blinks the sensation away. "You...were gone a long time." He cups his hand around the end and lifts if away from Sheppard's chest. "I didn't want you to run out."

"God, Ronon." Sheppard grabs his hand and squeezes it tightly. His face is open, the usual mask peeled back to reveal a raw tangle of love, faith, truth and hope. "That's kind of impossible anymore."

Ronon leans forward and licks his way into Sheppard's mouth. The kiss starts off fueled by fear and desperation, but eases into something born of comfort and relief.

Between them, Sheppard's hand is curling Ronon's around the sharing end, which is a token of faith, yes, but also a promise and a vow.

.End


End file.
